Every once in a while up in heaven, God creates something too perfect, too pure, too fragile for this world.

Luhan was one of those things, Sehun realizes now. He didn’t belong to the same reality as everyone else; he had been made for a paradise where the rains are always warm and caress the skin softly and no one ever falls ill or dies. His being born into this world was a mistake, but one that Sehun is grateful for.

They met in Seoul during the youth of winter, that fleeting time after the year’s first snows, when the air is still crisp and clear and the snow freshly fallen. The whole city was hushed with awe for the whiteness that cleared the pollution from the sky and made everything seem new again.

It was a minor modeling gig, and half the boys didn’t speak a word of Korean because it was cheaper that way. But Sehun didn’t need words to communicate with the blonde boy whose eyes were so haunted. They were wearing the lightest shades of the coolest colors, greens and blues so pale that they could barely be distinguished from the pure white of the backdrop, and they were made to lean against each other, eyes closed and bodies brushing.

Every time they changed position their eyes would meet and Sehun would feel a catch inside his chest, like there was something lodged there in between bone and cartilage and the slick, dark redness of his pounding heart. The photographer, who had chosen both of them especially, would marvel at their similarities, but Sehun knows even now, especially now, that they could not have been more different.

They had done well for themselves, that day, and afterwards Luhan had allowed himself to be taken with Sehun back to his lonely apartment, where everything had moved in slow motion as they kissed and moved against each other, Sehun wondering if it was all real.

Sehun still remembers the way Luhan’s skin felt under his fingertips, like too hard of a pressure would break the outermost layer and blood would seep out, scarlet staining the cream of his skin. He also remembers the bones of the other, protruding hard and smooth from beneath his skin just enough for Sehun to rub a thumb over them and delight in the shivers the movement produced. And he loved the way Luhan’s hair filled his hands, running through the gaps between his fingers like the path of a stream through the rocks standing in its way. When he leaned close, he could smell the fragrance on Luhan’s skin, permeating his thin shirt, in his hair, heady and intoxicating but at the same time clean and pure, like clothes freshly laundered.

They saw each other after that first time, shoulders brushing in the frenzied backstage of a fashion show, draped over the same couch for a magazine spread, eyes meeting for a brief second on the runway, the music making them forget everything. Each time they would exchange a smile and a clasp of hands, and after the last of the mandatory afterparties had died down they would meet outside and catch a cab to somewhere, anywhere really.

(Each time Sehun would notice the way Luhan’s eyes sank further into his skull, the way his hair no longer felt like silk in Sehun’s fingers, the way his collar bones and wrist bones became more and more pronounced, jutting away from himself. And each time Sehun would only watch as Luhan stayed for shorter and shorter periods of time, as if he had somewhere else to be, and each time the need to be away grew greater and greater.)

But to Sehun Luhan was like a doll, silent and perfect, a plaything to be loved and cared for until it was outgrown and cast aside. Luhan was merely a part of the scenery, and it seemed impossible that he should ever leave the bright lights and ironed sheets that they met underneath. Sehun couldn’t understand him, so he was reduced to an object of fascination that was justified with I guess that’s just how it is. Every action was a mystery to Sehun, though he never tried to look beyond the dark eyes and pale skin and solve the mystery, and perhaps that was because he enjoyed it, the way their encounters were both everything and nothing--everything because it was like an encounter with something higher, divine, nothing because he knew Luhan would be at the next show, the next shoot.

Though Sehun could touch him and feel him, make him smile and moan, Luhan was unreal.

Then one spring in Beijing Sehun began to notice what before had been covered by a gauzy veil of something he couldn’t recognize. He caught the way Luhan’s eyelids fluttered in exhaustion as he heaved himself onto a makeup chair, the way his voice cracked from disuse when he asked for more water. It was as if he was tired of trying to follow the rules of a world that had never given him anything in return. He was sick of pretenses and just wanted freedom, but he was stuck in the routine he had followed for so long.

Sehun watched as Luhan winced at passing arguments, turned his face away from one of the models stumbling in loud and drunk, but still he did nothing. He only watched Luhan’s steady descent with a morbid sort of interest, like a child that puts something in the fire to see if it will burn. Even when after shows his kisses were met with only tired smiles, and when they were alone all Luhan wanted to do was lie on Sehun’s chest in silence, saltwater leaking from his eyes, even then Sehun could only watch, entranced.

So that summer passed, like a dreadful countdown to the barrenness of winter. They met more and more often, sometimes independent of work, for sugary coffee and walks on smoggy streets. Sometimes when Luhan thought he was sleeping Sehun heard him whispering things in Chinese, soft and desperate and urgent, like he thought it could save him. Sehun only held on tighter, kissed harder, treasured more the texture of Luhan’s body against his. But still he maintained his silence.

Perhaps it was this that ended it, after everything was done and not said. Perhaps it was Sehun’s inactivity, his refusal to help, that drove Luhan over the edge.

They were in New York, and after the shoot they left the city together, into the New England autumn. The trees were heavy with red and gold, and the air smelled of harvest and the cool breezes through their hair. There was another, smaller shoot in upstate New York, and as the cab wove through the suburbs, with their row by row houses and wide lawns, and down forest lanes, the trees creating a canopy over a tunnel of scarlet and cream, Sehun wondered if the shoot had never been, would he ever have seen such beauty?

As he thought it he glanced over at Luhan, whose back was turned to him as he watched the woods flash past outside, silent. Sehun remembers wondering if the view made Luhan happy, or if he had simply been staring, unseeing. He hopes it was the former--it’s more fitting.

They arrived at their hotel and ordered room service (restaurants were too awkward when neither of them spoke English or could communicate with the other). They had eaten together before but Sehun thought Luhan ate even less than usual, sliding underneath the covers and turning the lights off as soon as he finished. Sehun followed, his arms opening automatically to let Luhan into them, sighing softly.

Ironically enough, Sehun slept like a baby that night, content to inhale the scent Luhan gave off and to feel Luhan’s thigh in between his own two. It was by then familiar, the way their bodies fit together and the way each was secure in the presence of the other.

But at some point in the night Sehun woke to find his arms empty and a draft of air whipping through the room. The door to the balcony was thrown wide open, and crisp autumn air was sending shivers down Sehun’s spine. The moon was full that night, he realized when he sat up in bed and saw the rectangles of moonlight on the hardwood floor. Casting the covers aside, he climbed out of the bed and began to walk towards the balcony, the floor like ice underneath his bare feet.

As he walked he felt as a puppet must, like his limbs were not controlled by him but by some more powerful being, tyrannical and whimsical. He felt a black sense of dread in his heart, covering a delirious, light sort of feeling, almost like anticipation.

Luhan was sitting on the balcony’s railing, kicking his feet like a child and looking behind himself with immense interest. From what Sehun could see a storm was quickly moving in from the east, dark gray clouds threatening to cover the moon. The wind was beginning to pick up too, whooshing through the gaps of the railing, banging the doors and shutters against the wall, sending the dead leaves on the ground swirling in gusts around the hotel. The umbrellas surrounding the pool were bending with the force of the wind and Sehun could smell on the air a foul stench coming from the woods, like something decaying.

What are you doing? Sehun wanted to ask Luhan, even though he knew it wasn’t any use. Luhan continued to ignore him, gazing into the oncoming storm almost serenely. Sehun only watched, mouth dry, taking a step forward until he could almost feel the coolness of Luhan’s skin and the steady beating of his heart.

When the first fork of lightning lit the sky in the east Sehun felt goosebumps rise on his arms and neck, tickled by the fingers of the wind, and when he opened his mouth he could taste the rank wetness of the storm approaching. It was almost as if the universe were channeling all of its hate into the storm from the east, saying to them this is how I am--take it or leave it.

This was the world, a dark and dangerous force always striving to blot out the creamy light of the moon and overwhelm with torrents of rain the delicate plants on the ground. It was a malevolent entity that existed to destroy whatever was created, that was incredibly unfair and deceptively hopeful. By virtue of being the only world, this world forced all of its inhabitants to deal with it, go about their lives as cogs in the machine, slaves to the man. Most hadn’t the courage to do anything about it, only to complain and create more evil, out of spite. This had made the world complacent, and secure in its role. Take me or leave me, it whispered, triumphant, you have no choice.

But Luhan left it. As the first raindrops splattered onto his skin and the pavement below, he turned to meet Sehun’s gaze for the first time. Smiling, he leaned forward and motioned with one finger for Sehun to come closer. And Sehun did so. Throughout all of their time together, Luhan had learned only one word of Korean, and this he whispered now into Sehun’s ear.

“Kamsahamnida,” he said. “Thank you.”

And with that he pressed a last open-mouthed kiss onto Sehun’s neck and leaned backward, letting wind and gravity pull him down onto the earth, plummeting headfirst to freedom. Later Sehun was told that he died on impact, but at that moment he could do nothing, except for watch, with a feeling like his body had been ripped in two, as the scarlet seeped from Luhan and mixed with the rainwater, creeping away from his body in long pink tendrils and staining the cream of his skin.